


What He Said

by JayMor



Series: Daily Drabble [3]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Suicide, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayMor/pseuds/JayMor
Summary: No one could have stopped Sehun.





	What He Said

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't meant to glorify suicide in any way. Don't be afraid to ask for help if you need it.

_i'm going to kill myself._

 

I don't think anyone thought he was serious.

Looking back, he was never really happy. But then, he wasn't depressed either. He was normal. Just normal. Tall serious bitch-faced normal. He always said it, like it was a bad form of joke.

 

_i'm going to kill myself._

 

His voice would ring low, clear, detached--more suitable for discussing the weather than the end of his life.

He had been saying it for years. Always the same.

 

_i'm going to kill myself._

 

The words never differed. Never "I want to kill myself" or "I feel like killing myself". Always the same. The words spilling from his tongue like poison, his face stone.

 

_i'm going to kill myself._

 

Did I know, ever? Did it even occur to me that he might have been serious, even once? Sometimes, I think it did. When the wind is loud and rain splatters heavily across the ground I fool myself into thinking I knew. But I didn't. No one did. No one could. There were no symptoms. No warnings. Just the same five words in a bleak monotone, a tasteless echo of a poor joke.

 

_i'm going to kill myself._

 

I think we'll always remember, even years from now, the day he disappeared. I had left by then. I was detached, watching my old friends from behind a glass screen, separated by hundreds of miles and too many broken bridges to count.

I missed him.

But I was home. Successful. Content. Finally able to freely do what I wanted in the country of my birth. I was happy. But I missed him.

It was on a clear day that I got the call. The sun was out, the sky tinged blue. One old friend called my cellphone, a phenomenon I had believed would never again occur, thanks to my thoughtless mistakes.

 

"He’s gone."

"Oh God."

"He's gone."

 

I thought it was a joke. It wasn’t.

 

Had he finally done it? Not at that moment. He was still alive then. Maybe he was hidden on an obscure California beach, relaxing one final time. Perhaps he was in a coffee shop somewhere, drinking his last latte and constantly watching over his shoulder for unwelcome interference. But he _was_ gone. Away. Missing. No one knew where.

Then two days later we got the text--a group message to all eleven of us. Those of us who had moved away included, although we had long ago left. Six words.

I said I would do it.

 

_I said I would do it._

 

He was found that night. His skin was pale. His face stone. His body rigid and cold. He didn't look happy. But he didn't look depressed either. He just looked normal. Completely normal. The only difference the rusted red staining his wrists.


End file.
